It's ok, it's all ok
by Afsaneh
Summary: Chryed AU. What happens after Christian kisses Syed on the forehead at the wedding?
1. Chapter 1

Christian nearly stumbled down the steps of the hotel, he was crying so much. The cold January air hit him in the face, like a physical blow but he could have been wearing shorts and a t-shirt for all he cared. "Albert Square, Walford," he told the taxi driver. Earlier, he'd been planning to head for Heathrow, to get that flight to Miami that Jane had talked about, but right now he didn't think he could get enough words out to even buy the ticket, let alone survive the rigors of security and a long haul flight.

He sat in the back of the taxi, sobbing. Dimly, he was aware of the taxi driver staring at him through the rear view mirror, unsure what to do. Men didn't sob in public, certainly not in Walford. "You alright mate?" the driver finally asked.

Christian smiled through his tears. What could he say in response to that? Syed had just married Amira, Christian had outed Syed to his mother, his own sister Jane had rejected him in favour of her business colleagues and there was nothing Christian could do about any of it. But worst of all, the man he loved, the only man in nearly 40 years he'd wanted to spend the rest of his life with had slipped out of his reach, leaving his heart, and his life in pieces. No, he couldn't tell the taxi driver any of that.

"Yeah, I'm ok. Just, just a bit of bad news you know."

The taxi driver nodded and decided to finish the rest of the journey in silence. Back in the Square, Christian thrust the first note that came out of his wallet into the driver's hands and walked up to the front door of his flat. There, he rested his head against the cool wood, unable to even open the door. Soon, the tears overcame him again and he stood, racked with sobs, before crumpling onto the front step.

It was Lucy who found him some time later. She'd left the wedding as soon as she had noticed he had gone, but she'd had to get the bus back to Walford. He was barely aware of her as she helped him to his feet, opened the front door to the flat, and put him on the white sofa where he had loved Syed so much and so often, covering him with a blanket and putting a cup of tea by his side.

"Christian." Her voice was soft but insistent. "Christian, please." He turned to look at her, surprised to see her there. "Christian you're frightening me." She looked so young and helpless, wanting to help, but not knowing how. He sat up: "Luce, it's alright, I'll be fine, I just… it's just…"

"I know," she said. "I know now how much you love him. I didn't realise before, not really. I'm sorry, and Jane will be too."

Christian stared ahead, not wanting to think about his sister and her reaction. "Oh Lucy, what am I going to do?"

"Christian, you'll get through this. Syed, yeah, he's nice looking and stuff, but you know, I always thought he was a bit of a prat. And as for Amira, talk about a spoiled…" she tailed off at the sight of Christian's face. "Sorry, that's not helping, is it?"

"Lucy, I don't think anything will help right now." And the sobs overtook him again.

Christian awoke the next morning, enjoying that brief moment of disorientation where all he was conscious of was the warmth of the bed and stretching his long limbs against the smooth sheets. Then it hit him. Syed was gone. Gone on honeymoon with Amira. His wife. Christian turned his head into his pillow and a long groan came from his lips. Syed was gone and, at some stage, he had to face Zainab.

It took him a long time to get out of bed that morning. He cradled his mobile phone in his hands, longing and dreading a text from Syed, until he realised that Syed was probably on the plane, having spent his wedding night at the hotel with Amira. Even in his distress, Christian couldn't help but smile a bit at the thought of Syed on his wedding night. He knew Syed so well in every way, emotionally, physically, sexually – he knew that the younger man would recoil at Amira's passion, not wanting to stroke her long, lustrous hair, or kiss her smooth skin. Syed just wasn't into women, yet Christian was in no doubt that Amira would pounce on him the minute they were alone together. "Serves him bloody well right" he thought, he'll have to spend his honeymoon gritting his teeth or making excuses. Or imagining he's with me." That thought gave Christian the impetus he needed to swing his legs out of bed and head for the shower, but it wasn't long before the tears overtook him again and he leaned against the tiled wall, remembering the many times Syed had joined him there. With his finger he wrote Syed's name in the misted up glass of the shower door. "It's ok," he tried to tell himself, "it's all going to be ok." It's what he'd told Syed the night before, trying to reassure the other man who looked so lost, standing there with only one shoe. Trouble was, he didn't believe it himself.


	2. Chapter 2

Syed watched Christian turn around and walk away, his forehead tingling from the feel of Christian's lips. He wanted to call out to him, to run after him, to lose himself once more in Christian's arms, but he knew that it was too late. He'd made his decision, and only now did he realise what he'd thrown away. Christian had told him it would all be ok and six hours ago, Syed had so much wanted to hear him say those words, to feel that Christian understood and accepted his marriage. Now he wanted to hear them again, but not as part of a goodbye. Instead, he wanted to hear Christian say them while talking about their future, together.

A million images flashed across his mind – Christian wearing a silly hat in the Unit, Christian's face, bruised and damaged after the attack, Christian standing outside the MinuteMart, clutching a bag of sugar as if his life depended on it. Why, Syed thought, irrelevantly, had they spent so much time in alleyways, clinging and kissing, when they had the whole of London at their disposal? We really need to find some new places to be together, he thought, before the despair hit him once again, followed by an image of Christian, standing in Albert Square, in the glow of the Christmas lights; "I… love…you" he'd said.

Amira's voice interrupted his reverie and was all that stopped him from running after the man he loved so much. "Again," he thought. "She's always turning up at just the wrong moment. Why can't she just leave me the hell alone?" He turned around to face her, wiping his eye, remembering that he had made the choice to marry her, and that none of this had anything to do with her, not really. He reached out and brushed her lip with his thumb, wanting to say goodbye to her there and then, to turn and run out on her, and leap in the back of a cab with Christian, return to Walford and lock the door of Christian's flat behind them. "You're a beautiful woman," he said, conscious that today of all days, he hadn't told her that he loved her. The last time he'd said that had been on New Year's Eve, the last time he'd kissed Christian. The last time he'd been in Christian's arms. Christian had surprised him in the kitchen at Ricky and Bianca's, grabbed him, and almost danced him across the kitchen, the two of them tearing at each others lips, possessing each other's mouths as if they'd been apart a year or more, not just a few days. And then Amira had turned up at another inopportune moment. He'd only told Amira he loved her then because he'd felt so shocked – shocked by Christian's sudden appearance and demands. He was still angry at Christian then, he realised, he still felt that Christian was pressurising him to make a decision he hadn't wanted to make. Now, he realised, Christian was right – he couldn't carry on the way he had before. He'd had to make a choice between them. Only problem was, he'd made the wrong one.

He'd hurt Christian so much. Snubbed him in public, rejected him in private. Taunted him with Amira, used him as an emotional punchbag for all his confusion. But the older man hadn't wavered, had told him he loved him, and had, ever so gently, urged Syed to confess his own feelings. Syed followed Amira down the hallway to the wedding celebrations, wondering how they would get on. Would he be able to be as constant with her as Christian had been with him? Slowly, it dawned on Syed, if the last few months had been difficult, the next few would be excruciating. And he had the wedding night to get through first.

The hotel room was luxurious, as with everything else, his parents had spared no expense. Syed paced around the room, peering out of the heavy curtains, flicking the TV on and off. He tossed his mobile from one hand to the other, hoping for a text from Christian. "What are you doing, Christian?" he murmured. "Are you alright?" He flicked the phone open, and scrolled to 'Create Message'. He could hear Amira in the bathroom, no doubt changing into some extortionately expensive, silky nightwear. This was his wedding night and he would rather be anywhere else, even out, wandering through the cold east end streets than doing what he was about to have to do. A smile flickered across his lips. Christian would laugh at his current predicament, he thought. He turned his attention back to the phone and had started to tap out a text message when he heard the bathroom door open and a pair of arms slid around his back, taking the phone and tossing it onto the desk. "Don't you think you should put that away, at least for one night?" Amira murmured. Syed took a deep breath. "I bet you're thinking this serves me bloody well right, Christian," he thought.


	3. Chapter 3

Three days after the wedding, Christian had an envelope pushed through his door. He'd spent most of the last 72 hours lying in bed, or on the sofa, listening to music, replaying the last few months in his mind. Syed standing outside the police station for hours, waiting for him to emerge – "Are you going to invite me home?" Syed's serious face when he'd told Christian he'd wanted to be a painter, his smile when Christian had started clapping in response to his entreaty to "Give me a hand". Syed's head, resting on his shoulder, nestling into his neck during the blackmail saga, and finally, the moment when Syed had admitted his deepest feelings, blurting them out as if ashamed of them, but his eyes had been broadcasting the very same feelings his lips had found so difficult to articulate.

The envelope was delivered by hand and Christian ignored it at first, to immersed in his own misery to care what was happening outside the door of the flat. Eventually, it had caught his eye as he'd made his way to the kitchen, and he'd torn it open. Inside was a note from Zainab. It wasn't a pleasant note – it was curt and businesslike, informing him that as he'd missed three days of work without contacting her, she'd assume he had resigned his post at Masala Queen with immediate effect.

Christian sunk his head into his hands. Zainab was the one person he didn't want to see. Her words still stung his memory, she'd called him perverted, said that he disgusted her, called him a liar. And if it wasn't for her and her views, it might all have been so different. Instead, she'd told him that he'd failed. A failure. Syed hadn't wanted him. Syed had chosen Amira.

Christian didn't feel he had the energy for Zainab right now, but he needed to keep his job at Masala Queen. He needed the money, but even more importantly, it was a link to Syed. When Syed got back from honeymoon he'd be back at work and Christian couldn't contemplate not seeing Syed every day, even if it was going to hurt more than the beating he'd experienced a few months before. Christian pushed himself up off the sofa and headed for the wardrobe to get dressed.

Zainab ignored him at first as he entered the Unit, pretending to be busy dicing okra. He cleared his throat, staring at her figure, distorted from the late stages of her pregnancy, such a small person, wielding such emotional power. "Zainab," he said. She turned around.

"What are you doing here?" she snapped the words out, her anger still evident. "Didn't you get my note?"

"Yes, I got it," said Christian. "But I haven't resigned, and I'm not going to resign. I just needed some time."

"Time?" Zainab almost spat out the words. "What have you been doing all this time? Seducing another innocent boy, like Syed? Out in your disgusting pick up joints, seeing who else's life you can ruin?"

Christian ignored her. "Look Zainab," he said. "I'm here and I'm not leaving. I'm sorry I haven't been here, but I'm back now. I want to keep the job and you need me here."

"Need you? What makes you think I need you?"

"Syed and Amira are both away and you're about to have a baby. You can't manage this on your own with the small bit of help that Jane can provide. You need someone here full time, and that person's me. You may not like it, but you don't have much choice."

Zainab hesitated. Christian was right. She was exhausted, the strain of the wedding had taken its toll and all she wanted to do was be in bed. "Ok then," she conceded. "But I don't want to look at you, or speak to you. Don't ask about him, don't mention his name, don't even think about him. He deserves to be a million miles away from you and your type."

Christian looked at her, not wanting to repeat the scene of the wedding day.

"He loves me, Zainab. And I love him."

"Love? What do people like you know about love? It's just lust with you, isn't it? Lust and physical desire. You don't know anything about the love that Syed and Amira have for each other and you never will."

"He loves me Zainab. And I love him." Christian repeated the words like a mantra, willing himself to stay calm.

"Yes, that's what he said," Zainab said, her voice loaded with contempt. "What did you do to him? How did you manipulate him into believing that? All he wanted was for it to be ok. Why couldn't you have just left him alone?"

Christian's heart pounded harder in his chest. Syed had told his mother that he loved him.

"He loves me and I love him." He repeated it again, hardly knowing what he was saying.

"Oh, I don't want to be around you any longer," and Zainab walked out of the Unit, leaving Christian alone with a pile of vegetables.


	4. Chapter 4

Syed was running out of excuses, and Amira was running out of patience. The honeymoon wasn't going with a bang and Syed knew it was his fault. On the wedding night, he'd wriggled out of her grasp and taken a step back, as if to admire her, draped in cream silk, her skin glistening and her hair hanging down her back in ripples. "You look beautiful," he'd told her, for about the fifth time that day. "I love you Syed," she'd replied. "You look beautiful," he'd said again, unable to think of anything else to say. Her eyes had narrowed slightly at that, but she'd taken a step towards him, her eyes shining and full of expectation. He'd taken her in his arms then, and led her to the bed, pulling her down beside him and wrapping his arm around her. She'd leaned her face up to his and he'd kissed her gently but briefly on the lips before pulling his face away.

"Look, Amira, you know how much I want this to be special between us?"  
"Yes, and that's what I want too. That's why we've waited all this time. I mean, I loved our wedding, but in some ways, I just wanted it to be over."

"Me too, but now it is, well, I'm exhausted. Do you think we could just lie here together for a bit before, well, before doing anything?"

"No problem, babe," she'd answered, snuggling into him. Syed had reached for the TV remote control. Christian would have killed him if he'd done this when they were in bed together, he thought.

Now, they were on the island resort Amira had chosen so many months ago, and even her guileless optimism couldn't mask the fact that things were wrong. Syed was sulky and withdrawn, snapping at her repeatedly, or shaking his head in dismay and retreating into long silences, staring out of the window, tossing his mobile phone from hand to hand, as if waiting for it to ring. During the day, he lay dutifully next to her on the beach, but more often than not he would be staring out to sea, murmuring to himself, unaware of her presence. Their evening meals were punctuated by long silences, or short, dead end conversations, that left her feeling embarrassed that the waiting staff knew they were on their honeymoon. They looked more like they were about to get divorced, she thought. At night he would head off alone for long walks on the beach, returning to the hotel room when he was asleep. One night he had stayed out all night and, on awaking, she had rushed out down on to the beach to find him asleep on the sand, seaweed tangled in his long dark hair.

At first, Amira put it down to exhaustion, knowing how much the money troubles of the last few months had taken its toll on the Massood family. But after three nights, she knew she had to broach it with him. She hadn't married a stranger, she and Syed had known each other for months before the wedding and this was not the man she knew. She'd tried, gently to probe, asking him if he was alright. "Fine," he said, shortly, "It's fine." Later, she'd tried again, and he'd turned away, snapping at her: "I told you, I'm fine."

That evening, he headed out to the beach earlier than usual, before they'd had their evening meal. Amira waited in the room, her new clothes seeming to have less sheen and glamour than they had when she'd packed them so carefully a few days ago. Eventually, she went out to find him, heading for what she now knew to be his usual spot on the beach, where he could stare out to sea, uninterrupted by passing tourists or locals walking across the sand. She approached silently, kicking off her high heeled sandals as she felt her toes sinking into the sand. As she got closer, she saw his shoulders shaking and heard him sobbing. She ran the final few steps; "Syed! Syed! What is it?"

He turned and saw her, not able to hide the tears that were streaming down his face and didn't relent when she took him in her arms. "Babe, what is it? It's me, your wife. You can tell me anything."

He shook his head and sobbed in her arms. "Sssh babe," she said gently. "It's ok, it's all ok."

Syed's head whipped up and he pulled away from her. "Don't ever say that to me again!" he shouted and stormed off up the beach, leaving Amira standing, tears forming at the corners of her eyes.

That night, he came back to the hotel room very late, slipping into bed beside her without a word. Unwilling to face his rejection of her again, Amira closed her eyes and pretended to sleep. When she woke up the next morning, he had already left the room. Amira sat up in bed and reached out for her mobile. She had no idea what to do, and only one idea. She dialled the number, sighing in relief when she heard the familiar voice answering at the other end.

"Zainab?" she said. "I really need your help."


	5. Chapter 5

Author's note: I've updated this – couldn't bear to have another chapter without some kind of interaction between our boys, even if it's only in Christian's memory!

Christian was beginning to loathe the sight of aubergine. He'd always liked Indian and Pakistani food, and learning to cook it properly at Masala Queen had been a bonus – he'd been able to impress more than one lover with his skill at cooking curry. But now, the sight of aubergine, okra and mango just seemed to taunt him, reminding him of the many hours he and Syed had spent side by side, dressed in matching uniforms, chopping and sautéing vegetables. They'd had so many conversations during those long days, choosing early on to eschew the radio for each other's company. Even before they'd got together, Masood, or Tamwar or Jane would come into the Unit to find them heartily engaged in conversation, almost unaware that someone else had joined them. Often, they'd argue, disputing points by waving aubergine in each other's faces, or jabbing at the other's arm with a cucumber. Once they'd started sleeping together, the conversations changed. No less intense, now they were more intimate, sentences left half finished, private conversations taking place between their eyes, with words left unsaid. A random visitor to the Unit might have said they didn't know, or even like each other, their interaction seeming little more than a conversational mishap, yet for the two of them, their silences were brimmed with energy and noise.

Christian felt haunted by the silence now, it was as if the walls of the Unit had absorbed every word that he and Syed had ever said to each other. He carried on alone, hour after hour, often staring at his chopping board for long moments of time, fending off the calls and goodwill messages for Syed from clients and suppliers alike. He wondered what Syed was doing. Was he thinking about him? Why hadn't he texted? Sometimes, doubts began to creep in. Could Syed actually be enjoying his honeymoon with Amira? He had chosen to marry her after all. Christian and Syed had barely spent more than a couple of nights together, let alone have the chance to go on holiday together. Christian could just imagine the arguments about where they might have gone had they had the chance. Syed would have wanted culture and sightseeing, while Christian would have wanted clubs and bars. But we would have compromised on a big bed and a 'do not disturb' sign, he thought, wistfully.

He rarely saw anyone else, Zainab had clearly chosen to stay away, and seemed to be keeping Masood with her. The day after Christian returned to work, Jane came into the Unit, but kept her distance, merely collecting the post and checking on the latest orders. Christian didn't really care, the endless cooking and chopping had a numbing effect on him. As long as his knife thudded against the chopping board, or sauces bubbled on the stove he knew that time was passing, and the more time that passed, the quicker Syed would return to him.

But Syed wouldn't be returning to him. Christian jabbed his knife into a potato in frustration and anger at himself. Syed wasn't his, and never had been, baulking at any reference Christian made to him as his partner, or his boyfriend. His mind wandered back to the last time they had truly been together. They'd stared at each other for a long time, cups of marshmallow hot chocolate cooling in their hands, both reflecting on what the other one had said. Christian had broken the silence. "Let's go home," he said. They headed back to his flat together, shoulders brushing as they walked, leaning in to each other from time to time, as if to provide reassurance or assert their love. Behind Christian's closed front door, Syed stood and held out his arms. "What would I do without you in my life?" he asked. Christian said nothing, but buried his face deeper into Syed's neck.

That night they'd cooked dinner together, Christian recalled. In the Unit, they had an unspoken agreement to keep their distance from each other, always aware that someone might come in. In the confines of his tiny kitchen there were no such rules. They found reasons to touch each other constantly – jostling each other out of the way, leaning past each other to reach a utensil or a pan, tasting food from each others' mouths. Afterwards, they'd lounged on Christian's sofa, and he'd pretended to watch television while Syed removed his clothes – one slow, agonising button at a time. They tumbled from the sofa to the floor, Christian's naked flesh brushing against the warmth of Syed's flannel shirt. Three quick, practised movements on Christian's part and their naked flesh was pressed together, and Christian felt as if the nerve ends on his skin were aflame with desire.

Afterwards, they'd talked about sex, he remembered. Lying in bed, Syed had raised the topic, his fingers dancing gently over Christian's chest. "Christian," he'd started, hesitantly.

"What can I do you for, handsome?" Syed couldn't help but smile, it seemed to be Christian's standard line after they'd had sex. "Christian, don't. I want to ask you something."

"That sounds serious. What is it?"

"When we have sex, what does it mean to you?"

Christian looked at him, frowning slightly. "Why do you ask?"

"From the very beginning you've said that when we've had sex it's meant something to you, but you've never said what it is it means."

"It's not just sex, Syed. It never has been. Even that first night, after Bushra's party, it wasn't just sex. God knows I've had enough meaningless encounters to be an expert on 'just sex'. Right from that very first time, we've been making love." Christian turned Syed's face so he was looking into those dark eyes. "Haven't we?"

"At first, to be honest, I don't know. I was so confused. I wanted you so badly I could hardly bear to be in the same room as you. Every other time, I'd left it as a one night stand, and I was too scared to do anything but the same with you. I thought that's what you'd want, you seemed to have enough of them, after all."

Christian's eyebrows rose. "I can't really argue that one. Go on."

"But I couldn't stop looking at you, wanting you to look at me. I wanted to know where you were, every minute of the day, and when I might next see you. I plotted ways in my mind for us to be together, even though I knew I had to be a good boy – and tell you to get lost. Oh Christian," Syed reached out and stroked his lover's cheek; "I've loved you for such a long time, I just couldn't face the truth."

"And now?"

"I've said it, haven't I? I love you. But, Christian," Syed looked over at the clock: "I've gotta go."

And with that, the conversation had been over. They hadn't talked about the future, Christian thought, staring down at his chopping board. They never talked about the future. The future was out of bounds.


	6. Chapter 6

"Let me speak to him," Zainab's voice was sharp and unrelenting. "If he won't listen to his wife, he'll listen to his mother. Where is he?"

"That's the problem," Amira was crying now. "I don't even know. I woke up and he wasn't here. He hasn't, he won't… we haven't – you know. He hasn't even touched me! He'll barely talk to me, he just spends all his time staring into space. It's like he's in a different world, thinking of something completely different. I don't understand, and I don't know what to do."

"Don't do anything. Just tell him to call me. I know how to handle him." With that, Zainab ended the call, leaving Amira confused and distraught. She was supposed to be the one who handled things with her new husband. She shouldn't have to rely on her mother in law. She had breakfast alone, and returned to the room to find Syed sitting despondently on the bed.

"Hi babe," she tried, brightly. "You ok?"  
"Look," he turned to face her. "This isn't exactly the type of honeymoon you were hoping for, is it?" She shook her head, tears welling up again. "I'm sorry, Amira, really I am. It's just… I'm just… I'm a bit overwhelmed that's all."

"I wish you'd tell me what's wrong, Syed. We're not supposed to have secrets between us, remember?"

"I'm sorry I snapped at you last night. You deserve better, you really do." Syed reached out and touched her lips with his thumb, repeating the gesture he had made on their wedding day. Hopeful, Amira gently licked his thumb with the tip of her tongue but he pulled his finger away, as if burned. She turned away. "I spoke to your mum," she said. "She wants you to call her."

Syed didn't try to hide his sigh. "What on earth did you do that for?" But Amira was already dialling the number. "Here you go," she said. "Maybe she can talk some sense into you." She grabbed her beach bag and left the room, slamming the door too loudly behind her.

Syed watched the second hand on the hotel alarm clock move round as he heard Zainab's voice ringing in his ear. He wasn't listening to her words, but the meaning was clear enough. He needed to stop this stupid, selfish behaviour and treat his new wife properly. She deserved better. Zainab deserved better. His whole family deserved better. He had to take some responsibility. He was a disgrace. The lies, the deceit, the depravation… Suddenly Syed couldn't take it any more.

"Have you seen him, Mum?" he asked.

There was silence before Zainab started off again. Did he have no shame? To be asking questions like that while on his honeymoon. In the room he was sharing with his new wife. He had a new opportunity, a new start. He could put his immorality behind him.

"Have you seen him? How is he?" Syed's voice was insistent.  
"I'm not a matchmaker for homosexuals! How dare you ask me such a thing?"

"Fine, then I'll just call him myself."

"Syed, listen to me. I know you think this man means something to you, I know you think that you mean something to him, but you've got it all wrong. People like Christian don't know how to care about someone else. They just use people for their dirty purposes and then throw them aside. You're lucky that you've managed to escape and that you've got a wife as lovely as Amira to be beside you. Now I haven't said anything to your father yet, but unless you drop this right now, I'll tell him everything."

"I love him, Mum, and he loves me."

"He doesn't love you, Syed, he just seduced you for fun, maybe even for a bet. The man is sick in the head."

"I love him, and he loves me."

"Don't kid yourself, Syed. He's been back out at those dirty clubs of his, in those public toilets, doing whatever it is they do. He's not thinking about you, he's just found himself a new toy to play with. And if you don't start appreciating what's right in front of your nose you're going to end up all alone. Don't expect me to be there for you if your marriage doesn't work, not this time."

"What do you mean, he's found a new toy to play with?"

"What, did you think he'd be faithful to you? Be sitting here, waiting for you to get back from your honeymoon? Are you a fool as well as everything else? Christian – love you? He doesn't love anyone except himself. He's incapable of feeling anything for anyone."

"I love him, and he loves me."

Syed put the phone down and his hand went to his forehead, feeling the skin where Christian's lips had pressed a few days before. His mother's words were ringing in his ears. Could Christian really have been out on the pull, hitting the clubs, finding someone new to play with? On reflection Syed thought, he probably could. It wasn't unusual for Christian to disappear for a weekend, turning up hungover and exhausted, 36 hours later. Syed had never asked him too much about those disappearances. As a non-drinker, he found it hard to understand the appeal of being drunk and with his engagement to Amira, he knew he didn't have the right to expect fidelity from Christian. But most of all, he hadn't wanted to hear the lurid details of any other exploits Christian may have had.

He got up and went to the wardrobe, tearing clothes off hangers and pulling things out of drawers. He yanked the suitcase out from under the bed and began tossing things in at random. He'd had enough of this honeymoon. He was going home.

To be continued….


	7. Chapter 7

Christian leaped for his phone when it rang, but it was only Jane's number that appeared on the screen. "What do you want?" he answered abruptly.

"Christian… Can we talk?"  
"Haven't you said everything you have to say?"  
"I'm sorry Christian. I didn't realise, I didn't know how much Syed meant to you. I thought he was just another…"

"Another what?"  
"Please don't make this harder than it needs to be. Look, come over tonight, yeah? For a glass of wine?"  
Christian was silent, battling his emotions. He was still angry with his sister, but most of all he need to talk about Syed.

"Please, Christian. Look, Lucy will be here. Even if you don't want to talk to me, she misses you. We all do."

He relented, turning on the humour to ease the tension: "Ok, then. Make sure it's a decent vintage."

Jane laughed in relief. "Decent wine, at Ian's? You must be joking. See you at 8, then?"  
"Yeah, at 8."

When he arrived, it was clear that Jane had made an effort. Bobby was in bed, Ian nowhere to be seen. She'd even changed out of her usual garb of sweatshirt and jeans into an outfit she hoped he'd approve of. He looked her up and down, even his current state of emotional devastation hadn't totally overwhelmed his judgement of his sister's dress sense.

"How are you feeling?"

He shook his head, not trusting himself to put his emotions into words.

"Heard anything?"

"No." Christian pushed his fingernails deep in the palm of his hand to stop himself from crying. It didn't work.

Jane thrust a glass of wine into his hand. "Sit down and tell me everything. Right from the very beginning,"

And so Christian recounted the long months of their relationship. The times Syed had awoken him by hammering on the door, his eyes studiously staying above the neck when Christian had answered, dressed only in his underwear. The cups of coffee Syed had wordlessly passed to him when Christian staggered into work, dark glasses fooling no-one, wanting to recount his exploits of the night before in an effort to impress the Muslim man. He told Jane about their arguments and debates, about the time Syed waited for him outside the police station, or nagged him to go buy a bag of sugar. But most of all, he told her about the times they laughed together, catching each other's eye across the Vic or glancing at each other in mutual understanding at Zainab's frequent tirades in the Unit.

"It was better than anything I've ever had before. It was fun, it was special. Jane, it is love."

Jane stared hopelessly at her little brother, wanting to comfort him, but, at the same time, wanting him to be realistic. "But he's Muslim. Didn't you realise that might be a problem?"  
"I think Zainab might have mentioned it. Once or twice." Christian's voice was heavy with bitterness. "We would have worked it out, he so nearly worked it out…" his voice trailed away as the sobs overtook him once more.

"But he didn't work it out, did he? He married Amira. He made a choice and that choice wasn't you."

"But he doesn't love Amira. He loves me. And he'll be back in just over a week."  
"You can't…" A knock at the door cut Jane off mid-sentence. "Hang on a tic, I'll just get rid of them." She disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Christian turning his wine glass backwards and forwards between his fingers.

"Zainab!" his sister's voice was deliberately loud, he thought. She was warning him to stay where he was. Whether by accident or design, Zainab's voice rose to the same level.

"I've brought you next week's orders. It's getting busier now that the holidays are over. And with Syed away, I thought you could get ahead."

"Thanks," Jane's voice dropped to no more than a murmur but Zainab's rang out clearly.

"Not that I begrudge him his honeymoon, of course. They needed some time alone after all the excitement of the wedding. I spoke to them both this morning. It sounds like a wonderful resort. A real paradise island. And they seem to really be enjoying themselves. Having fun, getting up late – you know the kind of thing. Amira said that Syed's making her feel really special."

Jane felt rather than heard Christian enter the kitchen, pulling on his jacket. "Zainab," he acknowledged curtly, pushing past her on the doorstep. She nodded briefly in response.

"Christian! Where are you going? What about your wine?"

"Vauxhall," he said, and reached out his arm to hail a cab.


	8. Chapter 8

The weather at Heathrow matched Amira's mood as they landed. Grey and miserable. She didn't say much when Syed told her he wanted to go home. He hadn't bothered going into too much explanation; simply said that he didn't think the honeymoon was working out and they'd be better off back in Walford. Maybe, he had forced himself to add, they could have another holiday in a few months time. She'd bitten her lip, and started to pack. She couldn't imagine a worse honeymoon, but maybe things would improve back at home. Perhaps his mother, or Christian, could talk some sense into Syed,

In contrast, Syed became more cheerful the nearer they got to Heathrow. As the plane's wheels hit the tarmac he turned to Amira and smiled at her for the first time since the wedding. "It's good to be home. Shall we get a cab?" As they headed nearer to Walford he became more animated still, and started asking Amira about her plans to return to work, and talking about the Unit. "I hope that Christian's kept things going while we've been away. I'll need to catch up with him as soon as possible to see what new orders have come in."

Amira was tempted to retort that they had only been away a few days, but she kept silent, not wanting to ruin Syed's good temper. Perhaps being abroad just hadn't suited him, she thought. Once they were home, back in the normal routine, it would probably all be alright. But they would have to think of what to tell everyone, it was more than a little odd to be returning from honeymoon so early.

"Food poisoning." She said it aloud in the cab. "What?" Syed turned to her, he had been staring out of the window, a small smile forming on his face as familiar landmarks had started to appear.

"We'll tell everyone we both got terrible food poisoning. That's why we're back early. They'll all be talking about it otherwise."

"Oh, ok." Syed turned away again, disinterested. Caring what other people thought had led to the biggest mistake of his life. He'd learned that lesson the hard way and had the rest of his life to dwell on it. Coming back early from honeymoon was the least of his problems right now.

The cab turned into Albert Square, and Syed and Amira stared out of the windows, each absorbed in their own thoughts. As always for the last few days, Amira was turning her husband's inexplicable behaviour over and over in her mind. Could it be something to do with her? Had she behaved inappropriately? Said something wrong? Been too eager or too forward? Amira knew she was beautiful – even Syed had admitted that. She was used to male attention and admiration. But she and Syed hadn't talked about sex at all – they had restricted themselves to almost chaste kisses and hugs before their wedding – and Amira had assumed it would all just fall into place as soon as they shut their hotel door behind them. Zainab hadn't been much help, and Amira didn't have a mother of her own to turn to. If Syed carried on like this she would have to talk to Christian, she decided. He was Syed's best friend, and the fact that he was gay might make it all a bit less embarrassing.

Syed was also thinking about Christian. In his mind's eye, he could see him, standing in the corner of the square on his wedding day staring at Syed astride the white horse. Christian had stood there, quietly, dignified and with pride, his eyes blazing with love and hurt, watching Syed head off to get married. Now, Syed was staring at the same corner of the square, but it was empty. He scanned the square for the familiar blue front door to Christian's flat, but it was closed, giving nothing away as to whether or not Christian was inside. Syed had no idea what he was going to say to Christian when he saw him, but he hoped that the words would be the least important part of their reunion.

The cab pulled up outside the Masood's house. Syed paid the driver and helped him lift the suitcases out of the boot. Amira walked slowly up the path to the front door and knocked gently. The door opened and Zainab took Amira in her arms.

"Are you ok? Is everything ok?"

Amira nodded silently, not wanting to start crying straight away. "I hope so," she said. "I just don't know what's got into him. Maybe being home will help him get back to normal."

"Why didn't you persuade him to stay?" Zainab demanded. "You'd have been so much better off, the two of you, on that island, away from it all."  
"Maybe that's the problem. Syed didn't seem want to be away from it all, with me." Amira pulled away and walked up the stairs of her new home. She hesitated outside the bedroom door, but Syed came charging past her, almost throwing the suitcases into the room. Amira followed more slowly, taking her time to look around the room that would now be her home.

"Amira, look, I know you want to unpack and stuff… so I'll give you some space, yeah?" Syed smiled at her encouragingly. "I'll head down to the Unit, see how things are doing, catch up with Christian on the latest orders. Then maybe we can go out for a drink tonight?"

"Ok, but you won't be long, will you? I need an early night after the flight."

"Shouldn't think so, but don't wait up. We can always go to the Vic another night if I'm late back." Amira didn't bother replying. She would have been talking to Syed's back as he bolted down the stairs, jumping the last two. But Zainab was waiting for him in the hall.

"Where do you think you're going?" she started.

"No, mum. Not this time. You don't know what's right for me anymore. I made the wrong decision five days ago. Now I get the chance to make things right."

"And your wife?" It was more of a hiss than a whisper.

"You're right. Amira deserves better. And I will sort things out with her. But he's my priority right now." Syed slammed the door behind him, leaving Zainab, tense and exhausted in the hall.

The Unit was locked and bolted, shutters down. Syed glanced at his watch. It was the middle of the working day. "Christian, where are you, Christian?" he murmured to himself, pulling out his mobile phone. His fingers hesitated over the keys. This would be better face to face. Pocketing his phone he walked over to the blue front door on the other side of the Square.

There was no answer at Christian's flat. Or at the Beales. His last chance was the caff. Syed stuck his head round the door, ignoring Jane's squeal of surprise. "Syed, what are you doing here? Your mum said…"

"Where is he Jane? Please tell me where he is."  
"Syed, I…" Jane fell silent, not knowing what to say.

"You know where he is, don't you? Is he alright? For God's sake, Jane, tell me."

"He's fine, Syed, but I don't think you can contact him right now."

"Where is he?" Syed leaned across the counter, clutching the edges of it until his knuckles so tightly his knuckles went pale.

Jane took a deep breath: "I haven't seen him since last night. He's gone AWOL again. Vauxhall."

Syed stared at Jane for a long second, fists clenched tight as he regained control of his emotions. "Thanks," was all he said, as he turned on his heel and left.


	9. Chapter 9

Whether in Walford or Vauxhall, Christian saw Syed everywhere he went. The turn of a head on a tube platform or the movement of an arm in a leather jacket glimpsed through the crowds – it seemed as if every man he saw reminded him of Sy. But it never was.

Christian hadn't heard about Syed and Amira's early return. As Amira had predicted, the aborted honeymoon was the talk of the Square for a day or two. Amira's strained, pale face backed up the food poisoning story, but Syed seemed to have made a quick recovery, everyone thought. "Just as well, if he's cooking curry," was Ian's only comment.

But Christian wasn't talking to many people these days. He hadn't felt too good himself on his return from Vauxhall. His weekend slutting had been singularly unsuccessful; his closest encounter was with a bottle of vodka at some houseparty he'd gatecrashed with a couple of guys he'd met earlier that afternoon. It was boring, he admitted ruefully to himself the next morning. Boring and dull to watch an endless parade of tight T-shirts and designer jeans when he should be running his fingers through Syed's hair, kissing the sensitive spot between his shoulder blades, or tracing his tongue along the path of the soft hair that ran from Sy's stomach to his groin. But that was all history now. The tight t-shirts and designer jeans were all that was on offer. He'd better start reliving his old habits, he thought. Celibacy had never suited him.

Wearing dark glasses to work had two advantages, he decided, as he winced at the sight of his hungover eyes in the mirror. First, they meant he wouldn't have to look Zainab in the eye if she happened to turn up at the Unit that day. Secondly, they would hide how rough he looked. Not that it really mattered once he was dressed in the regulation blue T-shirt, gloves and cap. Not that it really mattered anyway, he thought, sadly. Who gave a shit what he looked like these days?

Christian's hangover was doing battle with his longing for Syed as he scanned the recipes for the day that Jane had posted on the board. Both sensations made him nauseous as he started peeling onions and chopping tomatoes, tossing the vegetables into one of large stainless steel saucepans on the hob. He turned the music up on his headphones and grabbed an aubergine.

The sauce was bubbling away on the stove, and he leaned his forehead against the cool, steel door of the chiller, closing his eyes as the change in temperature distracted him momentarily from his churning stomach.

"You've forgotten the cumin." The voice was only about a foot away. Christian didn't move, frightened that if he looked, it would be another false alarm.

"And the turmeric". The voice came closer.

"In fact," it continued from right behind his ear "I think you've been cooking Italian, not Indian. I didn't see you put any spices in at all."

"No." It was all Christian could say.

"No?" there was humour in the voice now, and Christian could just imagine the slight tilt of Syed's mouth and the flash of laughter in his eyes. "Do I have to make you taste it?"

"No. No, you don't." Christian lifted his head and turned around to face Syed, who was standing at him, smiling. That smile. The smile Syed only used occasionally, the one that lit up both his face and the room around him, the one that made Christian's heart turn over.

"Sy, what are you doing here?"

"Christian." Syed's eyes began to fill with tears. "Christian, I…."

"Syed!" The voice was shrill and unmistakable. The footsteps that accompanied it were urgent and determined. Syed took a step away, then stopped and moved back towards Christian as Zainab entered the room.

"Syed. What are you doing? Amira's waiting for you. You're supposed to be going to the sales."

"No, mum. She's supposed to be going to the sales. Oxford Street is the last place I want to be right now. I'm working today."

"She's waiting for you, Syed."

"No, she isn't. I talked to her about this yesterday. She knows I'm working. She'd rather shop alone anyway. I loathe shopping and she knows it."

"Well, we don't need you here today. You can finish off the books at home. I've done all the preliminary work, you just need to look over them."

"No." Syed's voice was calm, but firm as he gestured towards Christian with his right hand. "We're the ones who don't need you here today, mum. You should be at home with your feet up. I can do the books later. Besides…"

"Besides what?" Zainab's voice was harsh.

"I need to talk to Christian. Alone."

"Syed, don't do this."

"I'm not going through this again. If you stay, it will only mean that Christian and I will talk tonight, at his place."

Christian was standing very still. This was not his argument to have – he'd taken his share of the flak on the day of the wedding and ever since. Let Syed argue with his mother instead. But Syed wasn't really arguing with her. Christian had never heard him be so assertive before. He sounds like a man who knows what he wants, Christian thought, turning his head to look at Syed. He sounds like a man who has made up his mind.

Zainab left the Unit, struggling to hold back the tears. Syed dropped his head in exhaustion. "This is killing her. It really is."

"I'm sorry." It was all Christian could think of to say. He was the one who had told her, after all.

"Don't be. I'm not." Syed lifted his head and took a step forwards. "Christian. I made the wrong decision. I shouldn't have married Amira. I tried to delay the wedding, but mum was insistent, and there were so many guests, all the arrangements…. I thought if I went through with it, it would all be ok between us. That nothing would really change. And then I realised."

"Realised what?" Christians' voice was low and quiet.

"I realised that you were going to let me go. When you kissed me goodbye and told me it was all ok," Syed's voice cracked at the memory, "you meant for it to finish. That's not what I want, that's never been what I've wanted. I love you, Christian."

There was a silence as Syed wiped his eyes.

"It's only been a few days, but I missed you so much, I even abandoned my honeymoon for you. I just had to come back to you." Syed opened his arms, but Christian stayed where he was, unmoving.

"What is it that you want, Syed?"

"I want to have you in my life. I want us to be together, like we were before."

"Like we were before?"

"Yes, why… what's wrong?"

"What about Amira, Syed? Does she know the reason why you cut short your honeymoon?"

Syed was silent, but his face gave Christian the answer he needed. "Not yet, no, but I'm going to tell her. Now that mum knows she's bound to find out soon enough anyway."

"Sy, you told me on your wedding day, that you had made your choice. I know what you want – the career, the kids, the success in your community. And you chose Amira. I'm not prepared to be your dirty little secret."

"But it's not a secret any more, or at least it won't be for much longer."

"Maybe not, but that's not because you've chosen to tell people. You didn't want your mum to know, you still don't want Amira to know. Sy, five days ago you had a choice, between one life, or another. You chose a married life, a lovely, heterosexual, married life. I'm not going to be your also ran, just because you missed a bit of sex on honeymoon."

"Christian, I love you. I told you, the wedding, it was so overwhelming, it was in the heat of the moment… what could I do?"

"Syed, living the way I choose to live takes courage. I've been beaten up, I've lost friends, jobs – all because of my sexuality. How do I know you're not going to run away and hide behind your straight façade as soon as things get tough? How do I know you'd be in this for the long run?"

"Because… because…" Syed fell silent.

Christian looked into the dark eyes he loved so much, hoping to find a resolve there that he hadn't seen before. "I don't trust you Syed. I love you - but after the last six months, I can't take the risk of trusting you. It just hurts too much." Christian pulled off his cap and gloves. "The cumin's on the shelf. I'm going home."


	10. Chapter 10

The hammering on the door was as relentless as the pounding in Christian's head. If it had been anyone else he would have let them stand there, no matter what the crisis, but he couldn't turn away Syed. Not yet. It was too soon, it was all too raw.

Christian didn't know where the words he had spoken in the Unit had come from. Some instinct for self-preservation had kicked in, his mouth speaking words he didn't even know he was thinking. He needed time, time to recover and to get over the batterings - emotional and physical - of the last six months. Heading for the door, he tried to formulate his feelings into words.

"Christian! I really need to talk to you."

"Amira? What are you doing here?

My god, he thought, staring at the smudges of make up round her eyes and her dishevelled hair. She looks as bad as I do.

"Christian, I need your help."

"Amira, hold up. You don't need my help. You're supposed to be on honeymoon."

"Yeah, but I'm not, am I? I mean, look at me, here I am, back in this hell hole. Some bride I am. I couldn't even make it through the honeymoon."

"I'm sorry, I didn't know." Christian faltered, unsure of what to say.

"Haven't you seen Syed?" Amira's voice was sharp.

"Yes, this morning, and he said the honeymoon had been cut short. But he didn't…"

"He didn't tell you why?" Amira didn't wait for an answer. "He didn't tell you how much I repulse him? He didn't tell you that he doesn't want to touch me, to make love to me, even to be near me?"

"To be honest, babe, he didn't mention you. We talked about work. Spices, mostly."

"Well, that says it all, doesn't it? I'm Walford's newest bride, and probably its oldest virgin."

"Amira, darlin'" Christian's old humour began to uncurl inside him, "I'm sorry to hear that, but really, I'm not the right person to help you out."

"But you are, you're his best friend! If you can't help me, no-one can. It's not like I can ask Tamwar, or Masood."

"Amira, what is it that you want me to do, exactly?"

"Isn't it obvious? I want you to tell me what Syed likes in bed."

"Stop right there. Just stop." Christian took her by the arm and guided her back towards the door. "I don't know what you're trying to say, but believe me, Syed's the person you should be talking to about this, not me."

"I've tried, Christian!" Amira turned to face him, holding her hands out in entreaty or despair. "He won't talk to me. He spends all his time staring into space, or stroking his bloody mobile phone. Please, I really need your help. You're an expert at pulling men. And you're one yourself. You know what they like. Surely you can tell me what to do."

Christian was speechless. He walked over to the pristine white sofa and sank into it, burying his face in his hands. "Amira, I can't tell you how to seduce your own husband. It's just not…"

"Why can't you? Don't you know what Syed might like?"

Despite himself, Christian felt a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Well, babe, yes I do know that, but this is the sort of conversation that should happen between the two of you. I shouldn't be involved."

"Please. My marriage is at stake here. We've never talked about these things. He's so far away I think he'd find it hard to talk about a shopping list. I need action Christian, not talk. What do I do?"

"Well, if I were you…" Christian hesitated. What should he say? The best way to seduce Syed was to do it slowly, with long, soft kisses. First his lips, then his neck, working your way down his chest, tugging gently at his nipples with your teeth. The first time they'd made love, after Bushra's party, Christian had tried to rush it, treating it as no more than a casual encounter. Syed had slowed him down, letting his tongue linger as it stroked across Christian's, nipping gently at his neck, covering every inch of his chest with kisses. It hadn't taken Christian long to catch on, and they had teased and tested each other, working their way slowly down each other's body, savouring every inch of flesh.

Amira was waiting, he realised. "If I were you… have you tried bhangra?

"Bhangra?"

Syed adored making love to bhangra music. Christian had quite a selection of CDs now.

"Or candlelight?"

The first time they'd gone to bed by candlelight, Christian remembered, one of the candles had gone flying, caught by Syed's foot as they'd tumbled across the bed. The burn on the floor was still there.

Amira was shaking her head. "Or how about a shower?" Christian stopped himself from saying more. It was a ritual for them to take a shower together after having sex. They would massage each other, before making love again, the water snaking down their entwined bodies. Most of it always seemed to end up on the floor, but then, the two of them often did too, holding each other so closely, it was as if they'd never prise apart.

"I thought I might cook him a meal?" Amira ventured. No, thought Christian, that won't work. Food and sex and Syed just don't go together. Maybe it's because he spends too much time thinking about food at work, but he's just not interested. He'd always rather skip the food and head straight to bed.

"Yeah, babe, why not give it a go?"

"It's just that I can't cook," Amira reminded him.

"Of course. Best leave that one then. Look Amira, I really don't think I can help you here. I'm sorry babe, but don't you think you'd be better off talking to one of your female friends about all this?"

"You're right. I'm sorry, it's not fair to ask you all this. I just don't know where to turn. Christian, would you do me one more favour?"

"Yeah, sure, if I can?"

"Would you talk to Syed for me? Try to find out what's wrong? Maybe he'll talk to you about, you know, sex and stuff."

Christian looked at her pleading face, the eyes that hadn't slept, the unbrushed hair and the crumpled clothes. He relented, knowing from experience she was hard to refuse: "If he wants to come over, yes, I'll talk to him. But, Amira, I can't promise you'll be happy with the result."


	11. Chapter 11

Syed didn't want to talk to Christian about sex. Syed didn't want to talk to Christian about anything. His anger at Christian flared up tight inside. He'd cut short his honeymoon and abandoned his bride, yet Christian didn't trust him. "What more do you want from me Christian? Why can't you just accept me for who I am?" he fumed, silently as he marched around the Square, his only chance of getting time alone. His mother, his wife and now his lover – all of them wanted him to be something different, it seemed.

It was getting dark and snow was starting to fall, soft, powdery flakes that settled in his hair and on his leather jacket, glistening in the orange glow of the street lights as they melted. Around him he could hear the shrieks of children, trying to scrape up snowballs from the slush on the pavement, pelting each other with the damp, grey sludge. He stopped outside the caff, remembering the moment, less than a month ago, when he first told Christian that he loved him. His happiness at that moment had been absolute, looking into Christian's eyes, watching the smile return to his face. Had Christian asked, Syed remembered, at that moment he would have given up everything for him. But all Christian had said was "Let's go home."

Then, Masood had had the accident, and Syed had given into fear. Fear of his family's rejection and his community's contempt. Fear of his mother and the embarrassment of turning away the wedding guests. He'd once called Christian Superman. Syed smiled, in the dark, remembering how little he'd known him then. Superman overcame his fears, just as Christian had. He'd gone out and bought the bag of sugar, gone back to work and rebuilt his life after the attack. He had no less to lose than me, Syed realised. But, Christian could face what frightened him, because it wasn't based on lies.

Syed looked over at the blue front door, with snow piling up on the doorstep. He turned away and made his way back home.

"Amira! Amira, where are you?"

"I'm here, Syed." Amira's voice was quiet and flat.

"Princess, we need to talk."

"Are you going to tell me what's wrong with you?"

"If I can." Their bedroom was so cold he could see his breath. Another one of Masood's economy measures. Syed took a deep breath and looked her directly in the eyes. "Amira, I'm sorry, but I made a mistake. It's all my fault, but we shouldn't have got married."

Amira broke their gaze, and turned her head away. "You made a mistake? In marrying me? Why? What's wrong with me, Syed? And why didn't you spot this mistake earlier? It's not like we'd never met before. Why didn't you tell me before?"

"Amira, there's nothing wrong with you. You're a beautiful, gorgeous, funny, clever woman and I love you dearly. But I love you as a friend not a husband. That's my mistake - I should have told you before, but I was scared. I was too scared to tell the truth."

"The truth? What truth? What are you talking about?"

"The fact is…" Syed hesitated. He'd only said this aloud four times before, and it didn't feel any easier the fifth time. But he'd come too far now to stop. "I'm gay. If I ever loved a woman, Princess, it would be you, but I never will. I'm gay, and I'm destined to love a man. I can't change it, I can't change who I am. And I don't want to."

Amira gasped, as shock mixed with contempt in her eyes. "You knew this, before you married me?"

He nodded "Yes."

"So what was I? A sexual experiment? Or just a front?"

"Not a front, no. Not really. I really wanted all those things we talked about. I still do. The nice home, the business, the cars, the holidays. But I don't want to share them with the wrong person. I don't want to share them with someone I can never love."

Amira's anger made her vicious: "Well you'll never have them now. You are so badly in the shit, Syed. So badly. You're gay, in our community? You deserve every slur that's going to come your way, every back that's turned on you and all the whispered gossip with your name in it. You've used me, Syed, and what's even worse, you couldn't even make an effort. You used me, and now you're tossing me aside like an old rag because I don't suit your purpose any more. Don't expect me to keep quiet about this. I hope your life is spent hiding from shame Syed, because it's no more than you deserve." The door of their bedroom slammed behind her.

Syed sank onto the bed, trembling. The room was cold but his cheeks were burning the colour of poppies. "That makes four", he told himself. "Christian, Lucy, Mum and now Amira. Just Dad to go. Tamwar doesn't count and Shabnam will be cool . Just one more person to go, and then I can be myself."


	12. Chapter 12

The snow was falling thickly on the window sill, hiding the grimy cracked paint and chipped plasterwork. Syed stared out blankly, watching the grey, concrete world outside become transformed by a blanket of snow. The bedsit was cold – the window rattled in its frame, letting gusts of cold air into the room, and the single electric bar heater did little more than thaw out the foot of carpet immediately in front of it. That morning Syed had found his toothpaste frozen in the tube.

He had nowhere else to go. He couldn't stay at home, not with his mother's anger and Amira's devastation. Christian's blue front door was resolutely shut, and Syed didn't think he'd be welcome there. For the second time in his life, Syed found himself alone. The bedsit was over the kebab shop on the high street and his lonely evenings were punctuated by the smell of burning grease and the sounds of drunken fights. At night he didn't sleep, clutching the thin duvet around him, reliving all the moments he'd shared with Christian, since the very start. Their time together ran along like a film strip in his head – a series of images flashing past, accompanied by a pain and a heartache so sharp it caused Syed to clutch at his chest in a vain attempt to quell it. And then the tears would come, and finally, sleep and for a few short hours he would be with Christian in his dreams, laughing, talking and making love. But the early morning cold would wake him and he would lie alone and shivering in his single bed once more, waiting for the sounds of the rising shutters in the newsagent across the street as his signal to get up.

He was still working at Masala Queen. Zainab had taken to her bed, and it was his business after all. But he was little more than the delivery boy these days, leaving Christian and Jane in charge of the kitchen. The completed orders would be left out the back for Syed to pick up and deliver, returning the empty trays the same way. When he did see Christian they barely spoke other than to nod acknowledgement of each other's presence, eyes cast down and turning quickly away. Jane acted as the bridge between them, passing on messages about rising prices at the wholesalers or customer complaints at the quality of the food.

And the number of complaints was growing. Their mutual unhappiness was slowly destroying the business which had thrived as their feelings for each other had flourished and grown. Masala Queen was like a young plant, slowly being suffocated by winter frost, withering away in front of him. But Syed didn't have the energy to care. He stared blankly at the pedestrians battling their way through the wintry weather. His phone beeped once, startling him out of his thoughts, but his fingers were as numb as his heart as he clicked the message open.

"Where are you? Busy 2day. Get here ASAP." Once upon a time, Christian's texts had made him smile, full of endearments and innuendo. Now they were little more than orders. Syed shut his eyes briefly, as if in pain, before reaching for his boots and heading for the stairs.

Christian barely looked up as he approached. "Where've you been? I'm rushed off my feet here. I can't do this alone you know."

"Where's Jane?"

"Bobby's sick, she's had to stay at home with him."

"What about Lucy?"

"She's in school – where she should be. It's just the two of us and we've had a last minute order for a dinner and we don't have any ingredients."

"What do you mean?"

"Syed, we're out of stock. There's almost nothing out back – just a couple of bags of lentils and a few out of date vegetables."

"Well why haven't you reordered stuff? The stock should never get this low."  
"There's no money for reordering stuff! Our cash flow has dried up – haven't you been checking the books?"  
"No, I haven't looked recently." Syed turned away and headed for the office and stood in the doorway, not knowing what to do.

"You need to get a grip. This business is going to be bankrupt soon. Do you know how many people haven't paid their invoices? We're owed money right around the square and yet we can't even afford to buy a bag of basmati."

"Ok, ok, Christian, I'll sort it. Alright?"

"That doesn't help us now, does it? How are you going to make three courses for 15 people out of little more than dust?"

"I said, I'd sort it. Start soaking the lentils, I'll be back shortly."

Syed returned to the Unit, carrying bulging bags of vegetables. "What are those?"  
"Vegetables. It was all I could get. It'll do."

"Syed – we can't just serve vegetables. People will be expecting proper curry – lamb, prawns and the whole works."

"We'll tell them it's our healthy menu, specially for January. Everyone eats too much at Christmas – this is the Masala Queen healthy eating special."

Christian rolled his eyes, but Syed felt a surge of energy. "Come on Christian, we can do this. Two different types of dhal, a mushroom curry, a mixed vegetable one, sag aloo and okra with ginger, all accompanied by loads of breads. It'll fill them up and they'll never realise they haven't eaten meat. Anyway, it's all we can afford. Where are those lentils?"

Christian had never realised before how he and Syed chopped vegetables in rhythm. Their knives hit the chopping boards in unison as the mounds of vegetables piled up. Perhaps, he thought, it was because they had so rarely spent time in silence. Their time together had always been filled with noise, argument and laughter, but now they had nothing to say. But still they worked in harmony. Absorbed in his thoughts, Christian reached out his right hand and Syed placed the spoon he needed between his outstretched fingers. Syed needed mustard seed for the next bit of the dhal he thought, stretching his long arm up to the spice shelf and handing it wordlessly to the other man.

"Thanks", Syed was so absorbed in measuring lentils and water he opened the jar without looking at it and shook the small black seeds in to the pan.

"Syed?" Christian looked at him, confused and slightly stunned.

"What?" Syed was distracted by his recipe.

"Why did you do that?"

"Do what?"

"Shake the contents of the jar into the pan?"

"It's mustard seed. We need to fry them until they pop… It is mustard seed, isn't it?" Syed looked down at the label of the jar still in his hand.

"Yes, it is. But you didn't even look at the label."

"You gave it to me. I didn't have to think about it." Syed paused for a second, and looked directly into Christian's eyes. "I trust you, Christian. It's pretty simple really."

* * *

"We make a good team."  
"You've said that before."

"And we didn't even fight this time."

"At least you didn't throw half a jar of chutney over me this time."

"We'd have had to scrape it off you. We can't afford to waste it these days."

"Or we could have just thrown the T-shirt in with the curry."

"Christian-flavoured curry? Hmmmm….."

"I don't know about that. I think it would taste sweeter with you in it."

"Anyway, I didn't throw it over you. I was opening the jar. The lid was stuck."

"Excuse me? I was the one opening the jar. You couldn't get the lid off. You needed a man, remember?"

"Yeah, I remember."

* * *

"Well, they liked it. In fact, they loved it. Empty plates all round."

"Thank goodness for that. No comments about the lack of meat?"

"None at all. In fact, the organiser was a veggie and so was very pleased. Said she was fed up of being served chicken drumsticks at these kind of events. And she said our cooking was better than her mother's."

"Well, that's a compliment, but cooking better than my mother's wouldn't be hard."

"I've never met your mother. My mother's cooking would be harder to beat."  
"I wouldn't go near your mother's cooking these days. She'd put arsenic in it."

"No, she wouldn't."  
"Syed, your mother blames me for all of this. She hates me. She thinks I'm sick, perverted and vile."

"You're right, she does. That's why she wouldn't put arsenic in your food. Too quick and painless."

"So she wants me to have a slow, lingering death?"

"Probably. And maybe lose a few fingernails beforehand."  
"It would have been worth it."

"You're right, it would have been."

* * *

"That's all the washing up done. Are we finished?"

"I think so. It all looks pretty ship-shape."

"What are you doing tomorrow?"

"Well, I've got a few of those invoices to chase up, but after that, nothing. Why?"

"We've got another order for the double glazing dinner. I thought I might be able to interest you in making another few vats of healthy-eating dhal."

"Oh, I wish I could help, but I've just remembered. I'm supposed to be washing my hair."

"Sorry, Sy, that one won't wash. Not when you've got such a stylish cap to wear."

"Well, I do like to look my best for work."

"You always look your best to me."

* * *

"What are you doing now?"  
"Heading home to my new pad."

"Where's that then?"

"A bedsit above the kebab shop in the high street."

"I'm sorry. Things that bad?"

"Not as bad as they were this morning."

"I was wondering if you wanted to go for a drink."

"I don't drink Christian, remember?"

"I remember. I was thinking about hot chocolate."

"With marshmallows?"

"Yes. With lots of marshmallows."

**Author's note: one m****ore chapter to come… **


	13. Chapter 13

The snow had disappeared and been replaced by early daffodils. Syed had another little sister now, a squalling, wrinkly little sister, with her father's nose and her mother's unpredictable disposition. He didn't see her very often: childbirth hadn't done much to change his mother's outlook towards her oldest son. He saw his father more – they would meet for occasional coffees in the caff, when Masood would scroll rapidly through pictures of the baby on his phone, studiously avoiding any discussion of the chasm between them.

Amira had gone, back to West London to live with her own father. It hadn't seemed to take her very long to recover, Syed reflected, half-relieved and half-envious at her ability to move on. Last he'd heard she'd been dating a city lawyer with a flat in Kensington and an Audi TT. Syed spent all his time in the Unit, and Masala Queen's fortunes were slowly improving as he and Christian worked together to build the business back up. They did make a good team, Syed realised. Christian's charm was slowly wooing back disgruntled customers, while Syed focussed on the finances. The phone was ringing more and more these days, and the shelves in the back were laden down with stock.

But this morning there had been an unexpected call and an unwelcome one. Syed waited impatiently in the tiny office for Christian's arrival, his heart beating faster as he finally heard the familiar steps on the stairs.

"That girl!" Christian marched into the office, not bothering to say hello. He reached for his uniform, pulling his white v-neck off with one fluid movement.

"What girl?" Syed turned away, trying to find distraction from Christian's naked chest by staring at the office noticeboard. The calendar was out of date, he saw, reaching up to pull it down.

"Lucy. She's turning into a right madam. She's just told me I'm getting fat. As if!" Christian placed his hands against his ribs, feeling for any extra pounds. "What do you think, Sy?"

"What? Well, I don't know, Christian – have you weighed yourself lately?" Syed's eyes were firmly on the calendar's picture of a golden dome.

"What do you think? Do I look fatter?"

"I haven't noticed, Christian, really." Syed binned the calendar and turned his attention back to the noticeboard.

"Well, if you actually took the time to look at me you might notice more," Christian's voice was more amused than sarcastic. Syed turned around, and couldn't stop his sharp intake of breath as he stared at Christian's muscular frame. Christian was smiling at him, waiting.

"There's been a phone call." Syed forced his eyes down.

"Yeah? Who's that then?"  
"James. He said he would call back." Syed's voice was deliberately casual, his fingers poking at the keys of the desk calculator.

"Oh." Christian was silent for a second, before pulling the blue T-shirt over his head. "He shouldn't have called here. I'm sorry. I don't know why he didn't ring me on my mobile."  
"He said he'd left you a voicemail."

"Ok, thanks. You know, we patched things up, he and I."

"That's great, Christian. It's really great."

"Look, Sy, I just needed…." The phone rang again and Christian reached for it. "Masala Queen. James! Hi! Sorry, yeah, Sy just told me. Tonight? Yeah, sure, what do you want to do? The Vic at seven? See you then. Yeah, ok. Bye." Christian moved over to Syed and stood next to him, so their shoulders were almost touching. "Sy, let me explain. It's just that…"  
Syed's hand reached out as if to touch him, but he stopped himself in time. "No, there's no need. Come on, let's get started. We've got a lot to do."

Syed pulled open the heavy doors of the pub and scanned the room inside. He saw James immediately, sitting alone in the corner, a row of empty beer bottles in front of him. He looked happy, Syed thought sadly, like a man who had everything he wanted. Christian was at the bar, taking another two bottles from Roxy. He said something to her and she laughed and blew him a kiss. Syed went to the other end of the bar where Ronnie was serving. "Just a coke, please."

"Haven't seen you in here for a while. Have you come in for the talent show?"  
"The what?"

"The talent show. " Ronnie gestured to the makeshift stage in the corner of the pub by the toilets. "Our very own X-Factor." She handed him the drink. "£1.25 please, and I'll even throw some ear plugs in for free."

Calling it a talent show was somewhat over-generous, Syed thought. The usual suspects paraded back and forth, singing with the enthusiasm and skill of karaoke singers after too many pints. He remembered the last time he'd been here for an evening like this. Amira had sung to him, pouring her heart into the words, and he'd spent the entire song staring at Christian, wishing his fiancée would disappear. Syed looked around the crowded pub. No-one knew, he realised, not one of them knew the real story behind had happened in the last few months. He'd fallen in love with a man, broken up his marriage and fractured from his family and not a single person here knew why. Maybe it was time to change all that.

Billy was trying to compere, but nobody listening. Syed crossed the pub and leaped up on the stage, ignoring Billy's startled squawk as grabbed the microphone.

"Everybody! There's something I want to say. No, I'm not going to sing – shut up and let me speak." The heckles died down and the crowds in the pub looked at him expectantly. Syed cleared his throat, digging his fingernails into his palm to try and stop his hands from shaking.

"Many of you were here seven or eight months ago, when I proposed to Amira. Four months later, lots of you came to our wedding and spent the day celebrating with us. Now, as you all know, Amira's not here any more. Our marriage didn't last, Amira left and now she's seeing someone else."

"Bitch!" Syed couldn't see who'd hissed the word, but he shook his head vehemently.

"No. It was easy to let you all think that, to tell you how she'd left me for another man," he continued. "But in fact, none of this is Amira's fault. You see," he hesitated, unsure of how to continue. "You see, Amira didn't leave me because she was unfaithful, or because she wanted to default on her wedding vows. She left me because our wedding day was a lie. Our whole marriage was a lie. And Amira wasn't the one who was deceitful. It was me."

There was silence in the pub, a hundred faces staring up at Syed, waiting for him to continue.

"I didn't love Amira. That is, I did love her, but not as a man should love his wife. And that's because I was in love with someone else. Right from the beginning, I loved someone else but I was too much of a coward to admit it. I was too much of a coward to admit to myself, to any of you, and even to Amira - that I am gay."

The startled silence in the pub was broken by the sound of smashing glass. Syed looked up, squinting against the bright lights. "Who… is everything ok?"

"It's fine," Jane's voice shouted out. "That was just Ian, he knocked over his pint in shock. Carry on, Syed."

"I betrayed her," Syed continued, his eyes roving over the faces staring up at him, "I lied to my family, and I lied to all of you. But most of all, I betrayed the man I loved. We had six months together. And those six months were the happiest of my life. But even then, I told him that he had to share me – I cheated on Amira, and I cheated him too. He's here right now," Syed gestured over to the table where Christian sat, his hand resting on James' knee, "but he's with someone else. And he deserves to be happy." Syed took a breath, his eyes resting briefly on Roxy's frozen face, before turning towards the two men in the corner. "Christian, I love you and I always will." Syed's voice began to waver as his eyes filled up with tears. "I wish I'd had the courage to stand up for what I wanted. That's all you wanted me to do. I failed you, and I failed myself. I'm so sorry. But I know you're back with James now, and, more than anything, I want you to know that it's ok, it's all ok."

Syed gasped and covered his hands with his eyes. The pub was silent, as all eyes turned to Christian, who looked firmly at the floor.

"For god's sake, will someone get me a drink?" The pain in Syed's voice filled the pub as he sobbed into the microphone. Roxy reached for a glass and pushed it twice against the whisky optic. "Here," she handed it to him. "Get that down you."

Syed took the glass, but before he could raise it to his lips, a hand reached out and took it from him. "You don't need that."

"Give me back that glass, James."

"It was you."

"What?"

"It was you all along. The one Christian was in love with." James exhaled sharply. "It's so bloody obvious now. How come I didn't see it before?"

"I… "

"You know, I always thought you had some private joke between the two of you. You were always the one he turned to, the only one he spoke to, really shared things with." James shook his head. "Do you remember that awful Sunday lunch?"

"I… yes."

"He was with you in the kitchen before he turned so moody, and then took it out on me. That explains a lot. No," James held his hand up as if to stop Syed although the other man hadn't moved. "I don't want to know. Christian and I, we're past that now."

"James," Syed finally found his voice. "Me and Christian, we're history. We're colleagues now. And friends. I'm not going to get in your way. Like I said, it's all ok. Really, it is."

"You're lying, Syed. You're as crazy about him as he is about you. If it got any more obvious it would be tattooed on your forehead. Just look behind you."

Syed turned around, and found himself so close to Christian he could see his heart pounding through his soft grey sweatshirt. The older man reached out and briefly stroked Syed's cheek. "That was some performance, Sy," Christian said gently. "I don't think Simon Cowell would have liked it though."

"Christian? Why are you… what's going on? Aren't you and James…?"

"Me and James? We don't exist. At least, not in the way you seem to think."

"I don't understand."

"We're mates, Sy, that's all."

"But you said…"

"I said we'd patched things up. I needed a friend to talk to – a friend who wasn't you. And James – " Christian looked over at his oldest friend and flashed him a quick smile. "James was willing to move on, and rebuild our friendship. I owe him big time."

"Yeah, and I won't forget" James tilted Syed's whisky glass in Christian's direction and moved off to talk to Roxy. But Christian had already turned his attention back to Syed. "You know, Sy, I don't believe you just did that."

Syed smiled faintly, feeling the fear and the tension begin to seep away. "Well, you always said you wanted me to be a little bit honest."

"Yeah, a little bit honest. But, Sy, I think you just came out to all of Walford."

Syed's smile grew broader. "And by the looks of things, no-one really gives a damn."

They were sitting so close on the bench of the pub, their foreheads were almost touching. Neither of them spoke aloud, but the conversation between their eyes was moving so thick and fast Syed could hardly breathe. Christian reached out and locked Syed's fingers into his. "Does this mean I can kiss you now?"

Syed's expression changed and he looked quizzically at the man he loved: "You've never felt the need to ask before."

"I mean, here, in public."

"Oh…." Syed smiled. "Yes, you can, but just wait one second." He climbed onto the bench and then up on to the pub table, where their full glasses sat untouched. He stood on the table, staring down at Christian with a broad smile. "Care to come up and join me?"  
"Syed….. what are you..?" Christian felt the table wobble precariously as he climbed onto it.

"Everyone!" Syed's voice was loud and insistent. "I want you all to see this!" He reached out his hands and cupped Christian's face gently between them. "I love you, Christian. Always," he whispered as their lips met. The sounds of the pub faded away and Syed was only conscious of the feel of Christian's hard body against his own, the taste of his lips and the gentle pressure of his tongue. The cheers and the wolfwhistles of the regulars eventually broke through, and they pulled apart just far enough to stare at each other again. Syed broke his gaze to stare around the pub, at the many faces grinning up at them. "It's all ok, now isn't it?" he whispered. Christian's face was solemn, but his eyes were shining.

"No, Sy. Things are different now. It's not going to be ok."

"It's not?" Syed's heart froze as he looked up into Christian's eyes.

"No. This isn't going to be just ok. This is going to be wonderful."

**That's all folks, hope you liked it. Please review!**


End file.
